Gone Forever
by PandaFire McMango
Summary: A angsty peice about Collins and Angel's death...i'm feelign sad now, so that's why i wrote it. mayeb more chapters, maybe not, dunno, i'm gonna work on updating my other major fics right now...not very good, i warn you, just ANGSTY!


Collins blinked wearily as he fitted the key into the lock and twisted it, the clunk of the sliding bolt as routine as everything else was now. He opened the door and stepped inside, already enveloped in the silence of the house. Dropping his bag, he slowly walked to the living room and collapsed on the couch, his hands over his eyes.

It was painful. All of it was so, so painful, painful enough to break him time and again. But one of the worst things was coming home. No matter what, the apartment would be empty and dark, like a tomb. Collins knew that much. It would always be empty.

That wasn't how it used to be. Collins was never sure exactly what he would find when he arrived home from work. Angel and Mimi working on a project of sorts, Angel playing around with her outfits, Angel doing anything and everything. But always Angel was there; she never let him come home to an empty house. She never let him feel alone. And now, even after months of reality, months of having to take the bullet of her death right in the heart, Collins still couldn't stand it.

Collins lowered his hands and gazed around the room. It was dark (God knows when he had last turned on the lights), but even so the bright colors of the walls and ceiling were easily visible to his tired eyes. Angel hated to leave any surface dull or plain; she had made it her mission in life to cover every wall of every room with something beautiful. Posters, paint, flowers long since dried out…even pieces of junk that only Angel could see the beauty in. That was Angel's gift; seeing the good in something that everyone else had overlooked.

She had done that for him. She had found the part of him that even he had lost. And because Angel had understood him and loved him and _known_ him, she became part of him. Se had been his world, his life, and now she was gone. And Collins was no longer living.

Oh, he might get up each morning, go to work, talk with Mark or Roger or one of the others, come home, go to bed. But that was only existing. That wasn't _living_. The last time Collins had truly lived was the last day of Angel's life.

_Shit_. He felt the familiar sensation of the sobs, starting down in his gut and rising painfully to his throat. Collins clamped a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying with everything he had to stifle the cries. The forces of the resistance made him shake violently, and he started to curl up, drawing into himself. _It's too hard, it hurts too much, let it stop, for the love of god, let it stop…_

He had had enough. Collins suddenly sat up and ran, painfully swallowing the sobs, into the bedroom. In the darkness, he groped for what he knew was there, what was always there, right beside the bed…His hand closed over it, and, trembling, he brought it to his face, barely six inches from his eyes. Despite the lack of light, Collins could see it as clearly as if every light bulb in the apartment was blazing.

It was a picture frame with three small slots for photos, given to him by Maureen three months ago as a _very_ belated birthday present. The pictures he had put in made Maureen nervous, and she had tried to talk him out of it.

"_Honey, I know that you want to put them there so that you can remember her, but—"_

"_Maureen, I love her and I miss her. It's a fact, all right? I can't just hide away the pictures of her so that I forget for a few minutes that she's gone. I…I want her there, just so I can look at her when I need to."_

"_Collins…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…um…"_

"_It's okay, Mo. Just promise that you know I'm strong, I can deal with it."_

"_I know you're strong, honey, I know you are…"_

But he wasn't. He was a wreck, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The picture on the left was taken of Angel drumming. She was leaning forward, muscles tensed and ready to begin the beat. It was a good angle; you could just see the glint of teeth as she smiled and the beautiful way the light feel upon her skin.

The picture on the right was Angel in drag, leaning against the wall of the loft. On the right edge, it was just possible to see Mimi's hip and elbow; but Angel was the main focus of the picture. She was wearing the outfit that, no matter, she always had to wear at least once a week, she loved it so much: the tricolor shirt, the white skirt with colorful flower prints, and zebra tights. Her arms were crossed and her face was calm as she listened to Mimi rant about something. Strands of hair from her wig hung becomingly at the edges of her face.

The middle picture was one that he could only look at for so long. A headshot, wig and makeup immaculate, eyes sparkling and lips smiling…it was his Angel, and it was too much for him. Collins was breathing hard now. He couldn't deal with it anymore; he couldn't bear another day like this, another moment like this.

And then he snapped.

With a cry somewhere between human and animal, he threw the frame down onto the bed, so hard that it bounced off and landed on the floor. The crack of breaking glass was like a spur in his side, and all he could do was run now, through the rooms, out the door, out of the building, down the street…And no matter what, he couldn't stop running, because if he did…

She might get away entirely.


End file.
